


In the wake of the dragon

by Urbanvix



Series: In the Grip of the Dragon [3]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Faith and Sin, Love, M/M, blood bonds, consensual yet complicated, dubcon only because blood bonds, lots of lust not much smut, smut is for the sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21585370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urbanvix/pseuds/Urbanvix
Summary: Sean knows himself to be a sinner, seeking salvation. Doctor Reid knows himself to be a monster, even if something keeps him from descending upon the Sad Saint's shelter. Geoffrey McCullum knows that he has no tolerance for this angst and needs to get to the bottom of it.Following on from the events of 'Grip', Sean Hampton continues to care for his flock in a city preyed upon by (dark dragon) Reid and his progeny.**This story is a bridge between Plaguebearer and Grip. Follows after the end of the game but SPOILERS for both pretty much immediately ;) If you're only interested in Sean stories, please do swing by Chapters 8-9 of Grip where he and McCullum meet for the first time. And thanks for reading!]
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum & Jonathan Reid, Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid, Sean Hampton/Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid, Sean Hampton/Jonathan Reid
Series: In the Grip of the Dragon [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555654
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, realtalk first : I adore Sean. As a YSA survivor myself, I really connected with idea of his 'infection' as a metaphor for the journey we go through after. In the game, his determination to pity and forgive William (for 'infecting' him), the 'appalling' hunger he's left with and his (mistaken) certainty that he can endure it without outside help (which would mean putting his trust in Reid) is a wonderful condensation of an incredibly complicated reaction.
> 
> 'Your Sean' may not respond to his scars as he does here, but please - no comments about doubting that someone with Sean's trauma 'would'. We all deal differently :) As is so often the case, love and life can be found in understanding and acceptance. I hope you enjoy the story, the fantasy, and the coming smut, all the more knowing where it comes from. Thank you for reading :)

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,” Sean said, the words familiar and comforting. “The Father of mercies and God of all comfort,who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. Amen.”

“Amen.” The others answered. Only two tonight. Sean prayed that Bridget would yet find more, still hiding somewhere. The thought of those poor souls haunted him. Lost in the dark, not knowing that poor Harriet had passed from this world and it was safe now to return.

Sean closed his eyes and swallowed. For all he was certain of both the Lord and the Deceased's blessing for what he was about to do, he did wish that his mouth would not water so.

“Lord, we thank you for this blessing and as we commend the soul of Charlie Sullivan to your care, we give our thanks for the comfort he leaves to us in turn.”

Charlie had been a good man and charitable with what little he had. He looked peaceful as Sean made the first cut. The other Skals waited, patiently, to take communion.  
  
****

Old Bridget herself came to thank him later that night. Once his flock was asleep, she nudged aside the shrine that protected their secret passage better than any lock, and joined him at his table. There was no meat here; he had left Charlie's remains with the other Skals. They needed it more than he did.

“I found no one.” She admitted sadly, “But I will not abandon hope yet. Those still missing have been with us for many years. They know the sewers well enough to keep themselves from harm.”

Draped in her threadbare gown, as dark as any funerary dress, Old Bridget was the embodiment of God's love enduring in the most unlikely places. She always had been.

Sean returned her smile. “I am glad to hear that. Are you also well, Old Bridget ? You seem troubled.”

“Yes, Sean. I am troubled.” Her hand reached out to take his, thumbing the fresh bandages. “And it is for your sake. Are you well ?”

Sean swallowed back the first answer he thought to give _._ It would have been a lie.

“You need not worry about me.” He said instead, “I am no worse than when I was at first, and Mr Sullivan's charity will sustain me for some time to come.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, but she spoke gently, sadly. “I know that your flock need you, Sean. But I fear for you, and them. Harriet was not truly a Skal, and others paid the price for my ignorance. You are not as she was, but at times I fear you are not truly like me.”

“The Lord is my shepherd,” Sean assured her, “He will grant me the strength to overcome. You need not fear that I will succumb to the craving. I am used to it now.”

“If you feel you might, Sean, you must promise to join us downstairs.” Bridget spoke in motherly tones, “You do God's work among the Skals as surely as you do here.”

“Thank you Old Bridget. I will never forget your invitation. But my place is here.”

“I know.” She squeezed his raw fingers. “I only pray you will not abuse yourself through conceit. Please remember, we can not know if it was God's plan to bring you to us in the end. You are the only Saint who would take pity on such poor creatures as we are. Do not forget that.”

Hard words to hear, harder still to accept, but Sean would try. “I will do my best not to court conceit on that.” Then, after he pause he found the verse he sought, “Speak not in arrogance, for knowledge is in the Lord our God, and it is by him our actions are weighed.”

“Samuel, 2:3.” Bridget smiled, “But that's old testament, dear Sean. I don't think I've heard you quote from it before.”

“I know. I will keep your words in mind, my friend.” Sean said. He meant it to sound hopeful, but the tears came anyway.

Sean awoke the next night feeling better than he had for a week, at least. He felt comfortable in his own skin again. Though, checking under his shirt, he regretted now that he had scratched his arms so badly. Although his skin had itched so dreadfully at the time, he knew well how long his body took to heal.

He must remember to show more restraint next time.

Or, perhaps, he should try to catch a rat again. God had given him greater speed and sight in the dark, the better to equip him to ease the burdens that came with this gift. He was not so selfish as to demand that God give him strength, if he would not use what had already been given to him.

But still... it was hard. He hated the thought of ending even such a tiny life.

The night had improved further when Geoffrey McCullum put his head in. The Hunter-turned-Ekon was much more cheerful these days. It was always good to remember how much happiness there was in the world. It was important to remember that though the troubled stayed with him, the healed went forth. It was a blessing when one returned to share their joy.

Better yet, the Ekon had the strength and dexterity Sean so badly needed. Last week, the third floor gantry had fallen in. It would take weeks to get the people and resources together to mend it. For now, too many of his flock were sleeping in tents for a cold January.

Geoffrey McCullum was eager to help, and happy to talk as he worked.

***  
  
“The short of it is that I dragged him back. But... I think he hates her.” McCullum admitted.

God, it felt good to put his monstrous strength and power to a constructive use like this. Simple work was always grounding, and the Saint's shelter was a worthier cause than most.

“Why would he hate her ?” Sean asked, “From what you said, he expected you to help her.”

McCullum dropped back down.

“Well, he didn't intend to be around for it. Charlotte's a walking reminder of her mother and he's still managing that particular box of -” He caught the Saint's eye and softened his words, “Problems.”

It was also good to be able to speak freely as he never could around his Maker or his ...Progeny.

“Even so, the three of you lived in relative harmony for quite some time before.”

McCullum hoisted the salvaged steel over his shoulder. “Well, she was human then. It was easier. She was something he could own. She's more like her own now. At best, she's mine.”

The Saint smiled good-naturedly as they went up the stairs together. “Such possessive thoughts seldom make for a happy home. Covet not, as the Lord hath said.”

“I thought it was covet not what thy neighbour hath.” Geoffrey laughed, “Nothing much about coveting thy neighbour in particular?”

“Not that I have seen, but translations vary.” Sean was wonderfully relaxed, joining easily in the joke. “The meaning of it is plain enough though. Few things drive love from men's hearts so powerfully as envy. We should turn out such thoughts when we can.”

“True enough, for mortal men. But God knows he's not doing it on purpose. I think he's just as confused by it as we are. Still, he hasn't tried to run off again, so I think he's just waiting until she's ready to fly the nest. Then we'll see what happens then.”

He carefully lowered his burden to the metal grating. “Alright, Saint. I'll get myself up there, then you just hand them up when I ask.”

Sean's turn to laugh, “I think you're overestimating my strength, Mr McCullum. I'll help any way I can, but – ”

McCullum cut him off. “Trust me, Saint. You've got the strength. I spent decades hunting your kind, remember. I likely know your limitations better than you do.”

Sean looked doubtful, but willing to try. Sure enough, though the Skal bent his knees deeply in anticipation, he managed to hoist up the steel with only a little effort. Between them, the job was done well, and quickly.

“There you are.” He said with satisfaction, pausing to wipe the non-existent sweat from his forehead. It was one of the many little manual ticks he maintained. “You can bring your people back in now, unless you'd like me to run the beds upstairs while we have the room to ourselves ?”

“No, thank you. If you do too much, we'll be forced to keep everyone outside in the cold for longer still, just so as not to alarm them.”

“Fair enough.” McCullum conceded. “You know, it does me a lot of good coming here. Being around humans just being human. You and your flock keep me from losing touch with the little details.”

“Then I am glad we can help each other, Geoffrey. You are welcome here, any time.”

“I still think Reid needs to come here.”

A short, sharp inhalation from the Saint, then, “He always has a place here when he needs it. Remind him of that.”

“I will. But...” McCullum struggled, hating to ruin the Saint's good mood. But he'd tried to start this conversation too many times before, and let it go. After three months, the subject of Reid was just as thorny as ever.

The Saint had recounted the events of their acquaintance readily enough. But just the events. Only _ever_ the events. Never the details that weighed so heavily on the words that they crushed them flat.

“I must bring my flock inside, Mr McCullum. Speak your mind, or I'm afraid it will have to wait for another time.”

Ah, damn him. Well, sometimes, it was better to play the woodsman, and go in with hammer and chisel. He said bluntly. “He's not going to come here. He's a dramatic bastard and there's something between you two that's keeping him away. Do you know what it is ?”

Sean bit his lip, and McCullum regretted his words instantly.

Very quietly, as if ashamed, Sean said. “I'm afraid you may be a better judge of his reasons than I.

McCullum scowled. “Anything you can tell me might help.”

“Is he in some kind of trouble ?” The Saint was wary, but attentive.

“No.” McCullum reassured him. “Not yet anyway. But I'm concerned that he will be, when the time comes.”

“Then I need to bring my flock in out of the cold, Mr McCullum.” Sean spoke with patience and certainty, “All of them. Now that there is space to empty the tents. May we discuss this another time? ”

“ _Sean_.” McCullum growled. Seeing the Saint flinch, he bit back the Command. “Sorry, I won't do that. I'm not going to force you, but I have my reasons. I can't let it go this time.”

He could tell that Sean wanted to bare his teeth; a primal impulse moving imperceptibly under the surface. But, he wouldn't. Instead, he paused for long enough that McCullum was certain he was asking for God to give him strength.

Finally, Sean met his eye. “I understand that this shelter falls within your territory, Mr McCullum. I am grateful for your help. But neither this shelter nor my flock are yours to control. I serve God, not you.”

McCullum shrugged uncomfortably. “True enough. And I'd be lying if 'territory' didn't come into it... a little bit. Much as I'd like to believe otherwise. But I'm not asking as a vampire, I'm asking as as a concerned ...” He fumbled for the right word and settled on, “A concerned party.”

“We are as God has made us, Mr McCullum. You will always ask as an Ekon, and I will always answer as a Skal. It helps neither of us to think otherwise. But,” He held up his hand to forestall Geoffrey throwing his own in the air. “I hear you. Please, allow me to attend to my flock and I will listen to what you have to say.” 

McCullum couldn't shake the feeling that the Skal really was asking his _permission_ , as 'an Ekon', not merely closing off the conversation. But he granted it anyway, “Very well, Saint. Consider me vanquished for now. We'll talk later.”

'Later' was further delayed when one of Sean's flock went into labour. It was timely enough to wonder if God's will really was at work.

But McCullum wasn't going to budge tonight. If The Lord really was determined to thwart this conversation, He'd have to be persistent. The Saint turned his bright eyes McCullum's way, often, especially once the tang of blood hit the air. McCullum only nodded in placid calm, and peeled potatoes. After that, he helped with the lifting, being careful to 'rest' frequently.  
  
In truth, it was the kind of exercise McCullum needed; training his restraint. This was how Reid had gotten so damn good at it. He might not understand half of what Reid was looking into, but he got the gist. He needed to accustom his body to being around blood when he wasn't hunting. Hell, without so much as _thinking_ about it, if he could.  
  
Easier said than done. But practice would help.

He even managed to lie down for a while, and pretended to doze. When the kid came into the world, screaming its head off, McCullum allowed himself a little smile.

“Boy or Girl ?” He asked, before the Saint spoke.

The Saint's dour expression broke into a smile. “A little girl. It was best I didn't hold her, with my 'condition' but I'm told she has the right number of fingers and toes. May the Lord keep her safe.”

“Amen.” McCullum said as he rose, meaning it. He stretched, “So, do you have time to talk now ?”

Sean glanced down, “Yes. I think I do.”

“Good. Lead the way.”

At least the wait had given him time to think how to come at this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hunter lays out his burden, the Saint considers carefully. 
> 
> (Smut free)

“For what it's worth,” McCullum began, as Sean closed the door. “Vampire or not, I approve of what you're doing here. As far as I'm concerned, anyone who wants to interfere with this place, or you, will be answering to me.”

McCullum waited until Sean joined him before going on, tapping a finger on the table to emphasise his point. “But you don't answer to me, Sean. I know that, full and clear. If ever I seem to overstep there, call me to account and do it gladly.”

“Thank you, Mr McCullum. Though I hope it will not come to that.”

McCullum dipped his head as he took the chair. “You don't have to tell me what Reid said to you, when he tried to 'break your faith'. I've done some digging. Your story is well known around here. I can guess close enough.”

Sean had to wince. He knew full well that his history circulated like gossip. It was embarrassing but, more than that, it angered him. People used the tale of his tragedies to explain him away and to justify staying in their own despair. But Sean was no special creature; no saint. His past and his pain did not excuse him from feeling all the rage and despair that other men did.

The only difference was that Sean had accepted the Lord's offer of salvation and sought to bring hope to the world. Any man or woman could do the same.

“But I need to understand what the hell **happened** between you two, and why Reid won't talk about it.”

“Have you not sought to ask him directly?”

“He won't talk about you either, and he doesn't have your heart. He's always been a chatty bastard, so I know what it means when he goes silent. It's usually a sign he's about to do something daft, or dangerous, usually both.”

“You still think he is a threat to my flock, Mr McCullum?”

“No, not that. God, if I thought that was a possibility, you and I wouldn't be having this conversation. He might be a monster, but that's not all he is. As long as there's more to him than that, he lives.”

Sean absorbed that for a moment. He had long suspected that McCullum and Doctor Reid shared their bed as well as their blood. The pain in McCullum's voice suggested as much.

“So, what is your concern then?”

“I'm worried about what happens once I've left.”

Sean frowned. In genuine surprise, he had to ask, “You're not staying?”  
  
It would be a sad thing if their happiness was doomed to be so brief. But, that was the way it had to be sometimes. He could and did chastise himself though, for the brief candle that flickered up. Few things smothered love so easily as envy.

Still, McCullum relieved him of the burden of that thought swiftly.

“Not permanently. I'll go, and come back. Time will tell how often and for how long.” He spread his hands, grinning. “There are still plenty of monsters out in the world.”  
  
“And you would not go together?”  
  
McCullum chuckled, though it was a sad sound. “Well, if we get a shot at one of the really old devils. Or maybe, sometimes, if he's bored. But he has his own hunt, delving into the great and terrible mysteries of our blood.” He seemed to savour the words, taking joy in his companion's happiness. “I have mine. We aren't the sort of men who could co-exist forever without tearing each other apart anyway.”

“I did hear that Priwen found you.” Sean added, “It was a great relief, knowing that you were alive.”

“Is that sarcasm from you, Saint ? I never thought I'd see the day.”

“Insult may be anathema to me, McCullum.” Sean ducked his head and smiled, “But not irony.”

“Well, well.” McCullum shook his head, “The point though. He and I have reached an... agreement, you could call it, to meet in the middle. He's changing his habits, I'm … deciding mine.”

“That sounds like progress, for both of you. It makes me glad.”

Sean meant it too. He knew the burden these men suffered but there was a hopeful note to McCullum's voice. Even men consumed by a more mundane thirst, like poor William, drank with hope in their hearts; hope for an end to their pain. Hope, no matter how impotent, was a state of fighting towards salvation.

McCullum seemed to recognise that too. He was silent for a moment, as if treasuring the brief sense of peace.

“I want it to last.” He said eventually, “But I have Priwen to remind me not to lose myself. I'm starting to realise that Reid has nothing left to tie him to the world; no anchor to mortality. Nothing to remind him to resist indulging his thirst however he wishes.

“Except for you.”

“Most of the time.” McCullum said, obscurely. “But, I think, you too. And that's the point of all this. That silence tells me he'll be daft the moment I'm gone. I'm the the only thing he's decided to hang onto, and that's not healthy.”

“What about Doctor Swansea ?”

“What about him?” McCullum's demeanour switched on the instant; a fierceness entering his voice as he sat up. “And how do you- Ah, of course. You were in the hospital that night, weren't you ?”

“That much is true. But Doctor Reid also came to see me the night before he intended to leave, and mentioned that he had made him like you.”

McCullum shook his head. “For God's sake, Reid.”

“Mr **McCullum**.” Sean said, pointedly. This man knew better than to take the Lord's name in vain.

“Sorry, Saint. Bad habits. What did he say?”

“Not much of relevance here, I'm afraid. He only asked me to remember you if I was in need of help. And that if I could not find you, the good Doctor Swansea from Pembroke might provide. But that was all. He left without a further word.”

“Does that mean anything more now ?”

“I am afraid not.”

“Hmm.” The Ekon folded in on himself for a moment, eyes low, considering. “You know what it tells me ? It tells me he gave enough of a damn to tell you he was leaving, and make sure you'd be alright. That's something I didn't know before. Adds to the picture.”

The Ekon lapsed into contemplative silence while he smoked the cigarette down to the filter. He stubbed it out on the bottom of his boot.

“So,” He said at last. “The next question is, why won't you talk about him, Sean? And **don't** _-_ ” He carried on quickly when Sean opened his mouth to speak, “Just tell me that he's welcome here, again. I need to know more than that.”

Sean had been about to say just that. Even so, the words were too close to a command to be welcome. He lowered his eyes to the table and said, gently but firmly, “I am not yours to command, Mr McCullum. I do not answer to you.”

The Ekon stared at him for a moment, then a flicker of a smile twitched his lips. He relaxed, sinking back into his chair.

“Shit. Sorry Saint.” As he plucked out another cigarette, he added, “Go on, however you like, or not at all.”

Sean thought for a moment. Where could he even begin ? This man, Geoffrey McCullum, was hurting more deeply than he wanted others to see.

Standing deliberately, he took one of the candles and went to open the altar. It was best he made sure his mind was right, first. It was best he was able to put aside his own pain. He knew the Lord's love and need to show these men his in turn.

He spoke from the book of Matthew as he lit the candles.

“Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those whose skin is broken, drive out demons.” He turned the ending to an affirmation, “Freely I have received, freely I shall give.”

Once his mind was calm, he turned back to the Ekon, who was watching with amusement. “A relevant verse, _mo chara_.”

Sean nodded and let the words come as he returned to the table. “Mr McCullum. I would like to help you, to help you both. But I am a Skal and I am a man. For all you call me Saint, I am flawed. You would do better to put your faith in the Lord, not me.”

“Sean,” McCullum said seriously. “I don't want to ask this of you. I know you'd hate him for what he did, if you weren't so determined to forgive him. I'm asking because I think you might be the only person who can do it.”

“I don't... It's not that.” Sean lost his footing as this conversation became suddenly treacherous. “I have known men do far greater evil without noble cause.”

Another verse of scripture came to mind, the words of the lamb; _Forgive them, for they know not what they do._

The words rolled out of him, one after the other. “I know that he is ashamed. As am I.”

McCullum blinked, looking almost affronted.

Sean asked God for strength with this difficult task. “You and I have both seen enough young men returning from this terrible War, Mr McCullum. Many are tormented. Too many have no faith that God can forgive them the sins committed on the fields of France. They will never again forget that they have the capacity to kill a man.”

McCullum listened quietly, nodding, unsmiling.

“Without love shown to them, I fear many will never recover. They consider themselves killers, in their eyes and the Lord's. When the Doctor returned after healing me, I spoke to him in anger, when this is the one place he ought to have found comfort.”

Slowly, as if putting a puzzle together, McCullum said. “And there's why you keep asking me to remind him.”

“Yes. But more than that. I do wonder...from time to time … if convincing himself to commit such a monstrous act on my behalf … if it acquainted Doctor Reid better with his capacity for it. If that was in part the reason that he acted towards you as he did.”

“No, Sean.” McCullum said, almost like a threat. “Don't blame yourself for what Reid is.”

Sean feared he had said too much. But, he kept on. “I know well that the Doctor takes from this world as much as he gives. We are each of us examples of that. In many ways, he is more a force of nature than a man.”

McCullum's expression was pained but he didn't interrupt.

“But,” Sean went on, “He _**is** _a man, whatever else he may be. He is a goodman. I understood him too late. I would have... I would have harmed my flock. I know of no Ekon quite like him. Neither have any of the other Skals I've spoken with. There is nothing to yet compel him to help others, still he does. Even if only by that mark, I can be certain he has not abandoned God. So I continue to wonder, and contemplate the role I may have played.”

McCullum sighed, tapping the table in his agitation. “That's exactly what I'm afraid of, Saint. I never knew that man, but he's as much a part of the monster as anything else. How long do you think that he can survive in idleness? How long can 'Jonathan Reid' last out once there's no one who needs his help? For a time, it was me, but I don't need healing any more.”

“There will always be those who need his help here.”

McCullum gestured to the table, sweeping his hand as if indicating the array of points he had laid out before the Saint.

Quietly, Sean said. “I … I understand you.”

More to himself, than the other man, Sean said. “But I will not kneel again before anyone but God.”

He couldn't say more on it. There had been only one other man, who had put him on his knees and called it kindness. Sean had found courage in the scripture after that. Reid had done so much less, and yet chastised himself all the more for it, it seemed.

McCullum looked pained. Sympathetic eyes and a sad smile did not fit well on such a face, far more familiar with anger.

“Saint, I'm not a pastor, I'm not a doctor. Truth be told, I wasn't even a particularly good man before I stopped being one... but I've seen my fair share of trauma in people. Mind if I share something I've learned ?”

Anger rose, inappropriate and unwelcome. Sean prayed for patience. People always wished to share their thoughts on his past. Still, it was offered out of a wish to help. What better reason for patience could there be ? He nodded.

“Don't apologise for the bastards. If you can forgive them, go ahead. But that's for you. Don't apologise for them.”

“I will bear that in mind.” Sean answered, as automatically as quoting scripture. “Still, that is the greater part of the reason for my reluctance.”

“And the other part ?” The Ekon asked. Yes, Sean thought, it was in their nature to probe.

“I will contemplate it and ask for guidance.”

McCullum nodded. “Well, I appreciate that.”

To be fair to him, McCullum did not push any further. Out of some sense of obligation, he remained with Sean and slowly brought the conversation back to happier subjects. It was likely as awkward for him as it was for Sean. But Sean prayed for patience. There could be no better reason for it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communion and conversations.

_And this,_ The Saint thought when he awoke, hot and itchy in his bed the next evening, _Is the other half of it. God forgive me._

The hunger was a gnawing beast in his belly. His knuckles were raw where he had rubbed them against the rough wall in his sleep, seeking relief from the embers crackling under his skin. He had forgone his communion for only one night, and it had returned already. How long would it be before there was no surcease ?

He would not go immediately downstairs. Skal he may be, but he had been a servant of the Lord far longer. If this was the Lord's will, then he would embrace the endless craving again. He would find the strength to endure.

Kneeling, he put his still-tender hands together in prayer. He prayed for all his flock, for the new baby and the mother's health. He gave thanks that they had enough donations to endure this harsh winter. He gave thanks that God had guided Mr McCullum to him to repair their roof. Not once did he scratch. Not once did he chew his lip.

Until the end, when he prayed for strength and forgiveness. Then, the itching grew almost intolerable.

“I am your most humble servant. Amen.” He finished at last, and still held back as long as he could. His fingers twitched and flexed, but he would show his conviction. His conversation with McCullum had awoken many demons, and he could hear the dark urges whispering even now.

They said, _You ought to have agreed, filthy Skal._ They said, _This is your punishment._

_Why resist it? You have been damned since birth._

He knew their words were lies but, when the hunger was this acute, they were loud indeed. They came more often now, during the night, whispering sweet evils and tempting him to anger. But God had raised him up before, and He would do so again. Sean need only have faith.

Downstairs, he was relieved to see that the sewer skals had not yet done with Charlie's mortal shell. Much of one calf remained. He collected a knife to cut around the ragged bite marks and take a small portion for himself.

None of the Skals had yet taken up the bible he left down here for them. But he understood. There was time enough, and they had been through much recently.

He found himself turning to Numbers, reminding himself of the plight of the Israelites and the Lord's wisdom to answer their prayer for food with community instead, so that they might feed themselves. Sean's mouth watered terribly as he read, but delayed his repast until he had finished.

He cut, slowly, though the urge spoke to just _take it into your mouth and swallow, and take another bite._

He raised one slice to his mouth and thanked the Lord for his bounty, then began to eat. It was a few days old now, but the sewer Skals knew their business. The taint was barely noticeable.

_Put your face to the corpse and chew. Bury yourself in it._

Soon after, he realised he was not alone.

“Who's there ?” He called.

“Only a friend.” Old Bridget answered, as she approached. “How are you, Sean ?”

“Better for this. Praise be to God.” Sean took another bite.

_More. More. More._

She rested a cool hand on his brow, “You do not look well.”

Sean smiled sadly. “I am a Skal, Old Bridget. We never look well.”

Acknowledging the truth of this, she lifted a stool and placed it beside him, looking upon him with motherly concern while he ate. He hadn't taken the time to bandage his hands before coming down here, and she touched her fingers to the welts. It didn't hurt. At least, it didn't hurt enough to be felt over the constant ache.

_More. More._

He finished his plate, and looked at the corpse.There was little enough left. He could manage.

“Take some more Sean,” Old Bridget said as he rose. “I think you need it.”

“I will be well, Old Bridget. There's little enough to go around.”

_Bite. Chew. Sever.._

“I will provide another, if it is needed. It may not be as fresh, but you should not short-change yourself Sean. The rest of us can wait.”

“Thank you.” He said earnestly, “In truth, I am still hungry. It may do me some good.”

Old Bridget stayed, watching as he ate. When he offered some of the sliced offal to her, she declined.

“Geoffrey McCullum stayed here a long time yesterday.” She said speculatively, “Did he impose on you at all, Sean ?”

“No, not in the least. He was in need of comfort and guidance, that was all.” He swallowed another bite before continuing. “He and Doctor Reid live together. They share many of their burdens with each other, and there was one I may be able to help with.”

Her dark lips turned upwards in a rare, sad smile. It split the broken skin on the right of her face, but the wound did not seem agitated. “They share more than that, Sean.”

_Bite down. Chew. Tear the flesh._

“I thought as much.” Sean nodded amiably as he manoeuvred another slice onto his fork. “I am glad that they have found some happiness at last.”

_Taste. Swallow._

“It does not bother you ?”

“The Lord sent his son to wash away our sins in blood, so that we could grasp salvation if only we seek it.” He took another bite, chewed, swallowed. “We must read Leviticus in the light of that covenant.”

Old Bridget lapsed into quiet contemplation. Only the occasional click of his knife and fork broke the silence. Soon, there was no more meat on the body, and Sean gave his thanks and folded them on the plate. At last, the dreadful itching was subsiding around the comfort of a full stomach.

“Sean, I think I would like to ask Doctor Reid to come to see you. You may not be well.”

The idea pained him so much more with what he now knew. Doctor Reid needed to come here of his own volition, not coerced by compassion. “I honestly do feel much better now, Old Bridget. Please, leave it another night at least. I have eaten very well and tomorrow may be different.”

“I am worried, Sean. You do not seem yourself. I do not know Geoffrey McCullum as I know Doctor Reid. It angers me to think that he may be taking advantage of you, as a Skal, and that you may not remember.”

“No.” Sean hated the hard tone in his voice. “He is a good man. He spent his life protecting people before he was Turned. He was mislead and angry, but he was never a predator after that fashion.”

 _Bite, Tear, Chew._ The urges rode his anger to the surface, but he remembered his vows and held his faith against them. He would not harm any creature. Least of all, dear Old Bridget, who was so very kind.

“I believe you, Sean. Still, I worry. I would not even allow for Doctor Reid to spend so long among the sewer Skals as this Ekon spends with you. Please, be careful.”  
  
“I promise that I will. Thank you, Old Bridget.” He summoned up a smile. Old Bridget was always so sad, he did not wish to add to her burdens. “But I must return to my flock now. Stay well, my friend.”  
  
****  
  


 _Ah, to hell with it._ He still had a good few weeks of 'recovery' before he could go back on duty. He might as well make the most of it.

Reid purred when McCullum climbed back into bed and kissed his stomach. His Maker had been reading, still perfectly naked, his pale skin laced with slender crescents of blood from this morning's fun. Still, he lifted the medical journal aside to look down and run his long fingers through Geoffrey's hair.

“Are you not going out ?” He asked with feigned disinterest, his inhuman gaze gentled with affection.

McCullum rolled to look up at him more easily. “I'm in no rush. Looks like a bloody awful night.”

“But surely the city needs you, Hunter.” Reid growled, his voice dark and dripping. “Far more than I do.”

McCullum took the leap. “I had a nice chat with your Skal last night.”

“MySkal ?” Reid's brow furrowed and he stopped with one hand against Geoffrey's cheek.

“Sean.”

“Oh.” Reid's lip curled a little; a tiny disdainful motion that he made him look such a toff. “He's not **my** Skal.”

“Well, whose is he then?”

“He is no one's, Geoffrey.” Reid sat up, and tried to slide out from under him to leave the bed.

 _This is going to hurt._ McCullum thought, then planted his weight to block the motion. “You sure about that, beast ?”

“Kindly move, Geoffrey.”

“We have time. I thought maybe I should introduce him to Charlotte, but I wanted to check with you first.”

“Do as you will with your progeny.” Reid said coldly.

“Alright then.” Geoffrey rose up to give him one, quick kiss on the base of his neck. “I'll take her tonight. I do like him, but I think she'd be the better fit. Since Skals **need** to have a leech in cha-”

He had been right: It fucking hurt.

Still, the pain of the clawed blow, which threw him spinning to the floor, was nothing compared to the triumph he felt.

_Got you, you bastard !_

While his skin knitted back together, Reid glared icily down at him. “Sean doesn't belong to **anyone** , Geoffrey and I can't believe that _**you**_ , of all people, wo-” He broke off in sudden realisation, then scowled.

He had to stop and wrench his jaw back into the joint before he could speak. “I _**knew**_ you gave a damn.”

Reid only growled and stalked away towards the door.

“Not so fast, beast.” McCullum taunted, standing up and pacing after him. “I've earned a little reward, a little information for catching you out for once.”

“Is this supposed to be my latest 'machination', Hunter?” Reid spat, not looking back.

“No, just my latest hunt, _**leech**._”

“You are simply bored, Geoffrey.”

Reid strode into the bathroom and flicked the switch on the boiler. As it hissed and gurgled, Geoffrey lurked smugly in the door-frame.

“Come on Reid. Ever since that night on the roof, I've known how you felt about him. But I haven't pushed it before.”

Reid pretended to ignore him as he opened the cabinet and closed off his thoughts completely. Geoffrey still found it fucking precious that Reid, possibly the most vicious vampire left in England, brushed his teeth every night.

“Did you know the poor Saint's tearing himself up in knots over why you won't come to his asylum? You're not helping him by staying away. He thinks it's something he did.”

Reid's shoulders stiffened at that. Geoffrey noted a second point on his side of the score. Reid rinsed his mouth and spat. Eyes closed, he said quietly, “Of course he does.”

McCullum waited, but that seemed to be it.

“Let me see if I have all the pieces this time. You found a man on your first night as a leech, and killed his friend. Granted, his friend was trying to eat him at the time, so that's fair. Problem is, because you knew fuck all, you dragged him to Pembroke even though he was Turning Skal.”

Reid was growling again; a low, throbbing sound barely at the edge of hearing. McCullum would not be cowed.

“After he ran, you hunted him down. But he wasn't like other Skals. The poor bastard was still a man of faith. You decided he needed your blood, but he wouldn't take it. So you compelled him.”

Reid said, low, “I am a monster, Geoffrey. This shouldn't surprise you.”

But McCullum wasn't done yet. He spread his hands. “It didn't work though, did it? Alas, ye poor leech, thy dark magic was no match for his fith.”

Reid turned away and stepped into the shower, ignoring him and closing his eyes as the dried blood washed away in rusty sheets.

“You could have forced your blood down his throat, like you did me. But you didn't want to do that. So you decided you had to break him. What better way than to convince him God didn't care?”

Reid said nothing, did nothing. He was holding the shower nozzle over his head, letting the hot water thunder on the back of his neck. It might have made it difficult for a man to hear over, but not Reid.

“You're a leech though, aren't you ? You'd done your research. You knew what levers to throw.”

 _So be it._ McCullum thought. “You just had to remind him that -”

His throat pinched shut, his body locked and every vein solidified agonizingly, standing out from his body like poisonous vines. Even his eyeballs locked in place under the seething pressure.

 _Another point to me._ He thought.

“Stop.” Reid hissed as though he'd been burned, “Please, Geoffrey. Just stop.”

With a flick of his wrist, Reid released him and shut the water off. Still, he stayed looking on ahead at the wall, resting his forehead on his raised arm. McCullum shuddered as his blood came back under his own control.

“Alright.” McCullum said, softly. “But don't think you can hide. This bothers you. And a good man is suffering for it.”

“I did what I thought I had to do.Sean is better off if I keep my distance.”

“Coward.” McCullum said, simply.

Reid did not argue, but he did meet his eye at last. “We are vampires, Geoffrey. We are death.” Almost amusedly, he added, “I have done worse.”

“Oh, come on, Reid. You're a lot of different kinds of monster, even if you've become a little more **civilised** lately.” Relenting at last, McCullum handed him a towel. “But you're not that kind of monster and it bothers you.”

“I should feel touched, I suppose. When did you start to care so deeply, Geoffrey ?” Reid's tone warmed a little as he dried off.

“I'll stake you to the fucking roof before I answer that, leech.” McCullum warned, with equal warmth. “But Sean's a much better man than either of us ever were, and he's not a _**well**_ man.”

Reid stopped where he was, “What's wrong with him?”

“How the hell would I know ? He looks ragged. It's worse every time I see him. And he's been scratching his arms to pieces; I could smell the blood under his shirt.”

“Has he been eating corpses again ?”

“He says it's not regular. But I'll tell you, Reid, you couldn't miss it from the door. Fresh butchery – a lot of it – just behind that shrine of his. And he still looked like hell.”

“I must go and see to him.” Reid said, his thoughts beginning to open to Geoffrey again; calculations, dates, numbers. Blood.

McCullum only nodded and got out of his way as he dressed.

Game, Set, Match. Reid wasn't the only one who would wear people down for a good cause. McCullum just wasn't as much of an arsehole about it.


	4. Chapter 4

“Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty.” Sean spoke warmly, glad to see so many come to eat at his humble table. The meal was bean soup, potatoes and even some bread; a true bounty. “Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.”

As he made the sign of the Cross, his flock answered. “Amen.”

Though he did not eat with them lest they fear to catch his condition, it always made Sean glad to give the grace. He was a part of this community, now and forever.

He saw to the linens while they ate. Some were growing threadbare and he ought take a count. Blankets too, since the cold weather persisted. There was always so much to be done.

The little baby was doing well, although her cries sometimes woke the others. It occurred to Sean that while community was the balm given by God, privacy at night might be of more immediate benefit.

“Jacob,” Sean asked when the big docker came to thank him for the meal. “If you have a moment. Would you be so kind as to help me carry a bed through to the back room, for Miss Mooney and her baby to sleep in tonight.”

“Happy to, Saint. Oi Carl ! Come help me move a bed for the new mum.”

So it was, so often, that his flock would not let him exert himself with his condition. A little love shared; a sign of the world getting better. _Whoever lives in love, lives in God._ It made him smile to recall hauling steel up to McCullum on his own, but his perceived weakness gave these men a chance to show compassion through their labour. There could be no better outcome.

_More. Chew. Swallow._

Ah, with his earlier repast, he had forgotten to take a portion of the meal for himself. Fortunately, Lottie had seen to that.

“Eat your meal, Mr Hampton.” She said kindly, “You need your strength too.”

She couldn't know that her words echoed Old Bridget's. But love spoke a common language at times.

“I thank you, Lottie. You are kindness incarnate.”

“Oh, you are welcome, Mr Hampton. But you must take better care of yourself, else who will look after all of us ?”

It was too close to conceit. He was only one man. “You would take care of each other, I am sure of it. And as long as there is love here, God will never his take his eye from this place.”

He gave thanks to God, and ate. The hearty bean soup was filling if not nourishing for him. As the shelter settled down and Miss Money settled gratefully into the back room, Sean felt peaceful.

He passed the calm hours in constructive work amid the tents. A few souls straggled in; those with the need for drink who had lost track of time, those who had found work that kept them late. More of them were coming after dark these nights. Sean did know if their safe arrival at his door was a sign of the recovering city...

...or the fact that two vampires protected his shelter.

He pushed away the sinful thoughts. God's love comforted him. But Doctor Reid's protection stirred a much baser sentiment; a dark comfort that should have no place in his heart. He would always choose God's love, which was infinite but without form, over the devil's bargain.

When one of young Wet Boot Boys had tried to shake down the shelter last month, the boy had been chastised and sent back to return what he had taken. Even the gangs feared to interfere with The Sad Saint. When the boy had later been found, dead and alone, people had nodded to one another and called it God's Vengeance. Sean knew better. God did not act in that way.

Vampires did.

Then there was Dyson Delaney. Sean could not get sick, so he had dug through the plague pit to give the man his last rites. He had seen the marks on his neck.

Dyson had frustrated him more than any lost soul he'd known; sadistically determined to pursue his own destruction, without even hoping for reprieve, let alone salvation. Sean had excised those frustrations in a written confession. It had gone missing after Doctor Reid had visited him. Sean sometimes wondered about it.

Around midnight, another pair arrived. He knew them; James Cummings and Alan Knight. Both suffering the thirst for drink and one of them likely the father of Miss Mooney's baby.

“Welcome back to our humble shelter.” He approached them with calm, keeping love in his heart. “Are you well tonight ?”

“Well enough, Saint.” James Cummings replied in a hoarse mumble. “Is Sally here ?”

“Yes. But I would ask you not to disturb them. Sleep off the drink, my friend, and return in the morning.”

“I just want to talk to her.” The man said roughly.

“She is sleeping, Mr Cummings.”

“Just let me talk to her.” James insisted.

Anger rose in the Saint's breast. These men were not beyond redemption, but they had treated Miss Mooney terribly. The day and night contained many hours to make reparations; now was not the time.

“Tomorrow, Mr Cummings. A little patience and a good night's sleep will aid you both and make for a better conversation. Go with God's love, and think on what you will say to her. He will guide you.”

“You can't.” Alan Knight growled, “It's sinful to keep them apart. It's his baby.”

 _Judge not lest ye be judged._ Sean thought unfairly, trying to maintain his calm. But his demons were awake now; anger slipping seditiously in even as he turned to the scripture.

“That will still be so in the morning.” Sean said instead.

_Bite._

“Woman shouldn't be on her own.” Alan muttered darkly. “It's not right.”

_Blood under the skin._

“Mr Knight. Understand, I can not permit you to enter this fold to disturb my flock. Go with God, but I must ask you to go nevertheless.”

_Blood and flesh. Soft things. Easily torn._

Alan Knight began to square up; an absurd gesture, since he already outweighed Sean by half at least, and stood a full foot taller. Sean met his eyes with calm, or as calm as he could.

“Alan.” James said at last, tears roughening his voice, “Leave the Saint be. I'll come back in – in the morning. You'll let me see Sal then, won't you?” His voice broke at the last question.

“Of course, Mr Cummings. If you are sober.”

“He's not a real Saint. You don't have to.” Alan spat, though whatever he saw in Sean's eyes seemed to discourage him.

_Bite, tear, swallow._

“I am no Saint.” Sean agreed, “No one is righteous but that they seek God. Go with Him now, James, Alan and be safe, and please do come by tomorrow. I would be glad to see you then, if my condition allows me.”

It took a little longer, but eventually they did. All the while, the demons nibbled at the Saint's resolve, urging him to a more immediate – and less lasting – resolution.

Once he was sure they were away, he turned back … and despair sank its teeth into his soul. The craving had returned on the same night. Sean swore to embrace it, to acknowledge and recognise God's Will this time. But he needed to take time in his sanctuary, to speak with God and find his peace.

He was briefly alarmed when he opened the door and saw Miss Mooney on the other side. He had forgotten that for a time.  
  
Going quietly to the shrine, he resolved not to wake them. He did not open it, did not light the candles. He only rested his hand on the door and whispered the words of the Psalm to God, who would always hear him no matter how softly he spoke.

When he finished with a final 'amen', another voice whispered back.  
  
_Bite. Tear. Want._

The baby mumbled.

 _Tender flesh. Young meat. Tear and bite.  
  
_“God of Wisdom,” Sean began again, his throat cracking in appalled horror _._ “Through the word of Paul, I know I ought not boast of myself. To prevent conceit, I was given this thorn in my flesh. And so, in You, I am made perfect in weakness. I ought feel gladly of my weakness so that-”

The baby made a soft, sobbing sound.

“- So that Christ's power may rest in me. Though it is hard. But for the sake of Your Son, whom you sent to save us, I should delight in weakness, in hardships, in difficulties. For when I am weak, I am strong with You.”

His whisper became harsh as the words came compulsively, the tears right behind them as he wept. “I know that You will forgive me as I repent for my sins, because you are my merciful God, whom I adore. Amen.”

The prayer bought him solace, but it did not bring him peace. The hunger gnawed. The baby was waking now, its mother – _her_ mother - stirring attentively beside her.

He ought not to disturb them. If he remained here, he would bring them pain. They needed their sleep. Better that he took a walk, perhaps found a church. Tonight, this room must be a sanctuary for them.

Sean steadied himself, and went out. God would walk with him, wherever he went.

****  
  
Jonathan paused on the threshold, then returned to the desk and withdrew the velvet case that contained his needles. Sean was likely to resent it, but he ought to come prepared. It could reveal a great deal.  
  
Sean Hampton might just be the only Skal created by the Blood of Hate who yet lived. Jonathan understood now that his blood alone could have brought that about. Yet there was still so much to be learned, and still so many dangers in coming close to Sean again.

This would not be easy.

But if he owed anything to any man, he owed it to Sean to make the attempt and make it _gently_. Geoffrey had made his case well. Doctor Reid would try.

Locking the door behind him, he set out for the docks.


	5. Chapter 5

  
“Good evening, Doctor Reid!” Lottie greeted him as warmly as ever, despite the late hour. “It's been a while.”

“Is has been, hasn't it? I am looking for Mr Hampton. Is he inside?” Jonathan smiled, slipping comfortably into old habits, old traits, old facades. He might be a wolf amongst sheep, but this was Sean's flock and he was only here for their shepherd.

“He's going through the tents, I think. He does have trouble sleeping at night.”

But Sean wasn't in the tents, nor in the back room, nor even – when he slipped past the sleeping woman and her newborn to check – in the sewers below.  
**  
** Of course, Sean did go out into the community at times; seeking donations and lost souls alike.

It wasn't a cause for concern.

There could be plenty of other explanations.  
  
Yet, he had come to talk to Sean tonight. His territorial instincts were prickled by the fact that he wasn't where Jonathan wanted him to be. Certainly, that was it. He didn't need to be concerned.

He closed his eyes, and listened to the song in his blood, out along the rough notes to his Hunter.

***

It really was bloody awkward that his breath didn't fog.   
  
McCullum had stocked up. These nights, his pockets no longer overflowed with grenades and ammunition. No, now his most important supply was a steady flow of fags. 

He lit one now. It served both for his disguise and to fend off the stink of Southwark. Most of the plague pits were being covered over, but the stench tended to linger in the brickwork, oozing back over time. Coming around a corner, he stubbed it out again quickly.   
  
_Oh, hello._  
  
Corpses attracted Skals. In the past, making a regular patrol past this spot had been an efficient way to smoke the bastards out. Now, the pit had been vacant for over a week. Not so tonight. Amid the furry bodies and long-dead ones, one movement stood out. He could hear its teeth grating harshly against the bone. He closed the distance in silence, drawing his sword.   
  
Still, he wasn't the same man he'd been a few months ago. Instead of a quick and silent execution, he raised his guard at the edge of the pit and called out.

“If you're lucid, Skal, speak up now.”

The ghoul whipped its head around at the sound of his voice. Its lips drew back from stained teeth, snarling. Pieces of offal fell from its chin.

 _Here we go._ Geoffrey thought, pleased.

Then, he spotted the cross, the ginger hair, and -

“Sean?” He asked, incredulous.

The Skal froze. Something, some sense of reason, came back into the little Saint's eyes at his name. His eyes widened, and stared at Geoffrey in horror. One hand shot up to cover his mouth as he dropped his head, only to stare again at the femur in his other hand. Then he threw that away as if it had burned him.

Geoffrey sighed, “Well, shit.”

“I am deeply, deeply sorry, Mr McCullum.” The Saint's voice was trembling, and he covered his face in his hands.

“You don't need to apologise to me, Saint.” Geoffrey said as he sheathed his sword. The words ' _I'm much worse'_ were on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them.

As the tears began, Sean looked up at the bone he had thrown away, and crawled over to it, slithering over the other bodies. Geoffrey could only watch, numb, as he carried it back, reuniting the parts of the poor, dead bastard he'd been eating.

The Saint bent his head and apologised to it for his trespass.  
  
Geoffrey looked away. It ought to have sickened him. It would have, if it were any other Skal. But all he felt was grief; a sharp sense of loss seeing the Sad Saint so reduced, so damned and damaged by his own hunger.

He'd been there, alright.

 _Then again_ , he thought, _maybe not._ His thirst was a powerful and predatory drive. Sean's hunger only seemed to take away. It was... tragic. Tragic enough to put Geoffrey's own fate in a new light.

The sawing sound of teeth on bone rose from the pit again.

“ **Sean**.” He said forcefully, turning back. With a compulsive spasm, the Skal jerked his head up. He seemed just as surprised to realise he'd been eating; surprised... and frightened. Sobbing, he closed his hand around his cross and began to pray. But still, he did not move away from the body.

With a heavier sigh than before, Geoffrey softened his tone. “Come on, Saint. Let's get you somewhere you can't hurt anyone.”

Without ceasing his appeal to God, the Saint nodded and began to make his way out of the pit. He stumbled once or twice, but didn't stop again. When he came close to the edge, Geoffrey offered his arm to help him out. Sean took it.

The Skal's pupils constricted to pinpricks, just as Reid Came to Visit.

“ _Geoffrey_ ,” The seething shadow said, “ _Sean is -”_

The sound Sean made wasn't a Skal's howl, or a man's scream. It was both and neither; a hollow, twisted sound. Pain and betrayal and hunger, inhuman and human noises all tearing at each other.

“ _He's with me._ ” Geoffrey snarled back as he leapt away, went automatically for his sword and stopped himself. Sean scrabbled up out of the pit, snarling in kind. Small, he might be. But crouched down with his teeth bared, there was no mistaking his wiry strength.

 _Fuck._ How was he going to contain him without killing him?

The red points of Reid's eyes flickered with alarm. _“_ _Where_ _are you ?”_

“ _Southwark. The last plague pit.”_ He dodged as Sean darted forward.

McCullum had been right, Sean was **so** much faster than he thought he was. Still, McCullum wasn't human any more either. If he'd been trying to kill Sean, he'd be dead already.

“ _How bad is he ?”_ Reid asked as Geoffrey stepped back and shrugged out of his coat.

Geoffrey side-stepped another clumsy lunge and threw it out wide behind him. _“Can't you see for yourself ?”_

“ _Not if you don't focus.”_ Reid answered, almost scathingly.

“ _Jesus.”_ Geoffrey managed to bait Sean into lunging again, then tangled him up in the fabric. As he closed his arms around the struggling bundle, as Sean kicked and bit like a bag of ferrets, he got it over his head and managed to snarl. _“He's half-fucking-feral.”_

“ _I'm coming.”_ He could feel Reid's horror through the connection. “ _He needs blood, Geoffrey. Vampire blood. You have to give him yours.”_

“ _Fucks sake.”_ Geoffrey snapped back, struggling not to break Sean as he clawed and tried to bite through the thick fabric. “ _I'll just ask him nicely to stop while I open a fucking vein.”_

“ _Please, Geoffrey. It might be too late already. You have to try.”_

“ _Fine.”_ McCullum growled, lowering them both to the floor so he could get a leg involved in restraining the little Skal. Reid let the connection drop. At last, he could focus.

But the Saint wasn't going to be obliging, and Geoffrey wasn't about to give him free rein to tear into his throat. There was no avoiding the fact that **this** was why Reid had exploited the Saint's trauma as he had.

Well, he could be a bastard too, but he'd still be a better man than Reid.

Not knowing whether the Saint was Protestant or Catholic, but assuming it didn't really matter right now, Geoffrey dredged up what years of Sunday Mass had laid in his foundations.

“God of Grace,” He started, as the Saint writhed and snarled in his arms. “You poured out your blood of the covenant for the many, for the remission of sins. You sacrificed Your only begotten Son so that we may not perish but have everlasting life.”

The Saint thrashed, but more weakly, hesitating. Geoffrey kept at it, surprised by just how much he remembered. “I offer my praises for You are my Good Father. You continue to forgive me of my mistakes and have judged me justly. I thank You always for the mercy shown me when I have strayed from You … and when I have yielded to the desires of my flesh.”

He could hear the Saint panting, raggedly, wetly. But he wasn't thrashing any more. Very quietly, he began to sob.

“Amen.” Geoffrey finished.

“Amen.” The Sad Saint gasped, muffled under the fabric.

Without removing the coat, without releasing him, Geoffrey asked, “I need you to take my blood, Saint. Will you?”

“No!” Sean didn't raise his voice, didn't shout, but the refusal was absolute. He could feel the Saint's muscles tense, ready to fight again.

 _Shit_. Geoffrey thought. But aloud, he said, “Alright then.”

A little of the tension eased away under his arms. Geoffrey adjusted his grip. Softening into a hold was a good way to slip out of it. The Saint probably didn't know that, but McCullum wasn't taking any chances.

Eventually, Geoffrey said, “What do you want to do then ? I can't let you go.”

“I don't know.” The voice was small, pitiful. “I want... I want...” He trailed off, as though what he wanted was too horrible to put to words. Geoffrey understood that as well, not wanting to want what you did.

“I get it, Saint. You have no idea how much I get it.” Geoffrey told him, “But if I let you go, you'll kill someone. I can't let you do that.”

“I don't need to prey upon the living as...” A pause, another wet sound as if the Saint was trying to moisten his dry throat. “As you do. I can feed upon the flesh of the dead.”

“You can.” Geoffrey agreed. “But you won't.”

“The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie in green pastures -” The Saint began. Geoffrey listened as he went on and he wondered which of the two of them was more monstrous: Reid, for taking the choice from Sean, or him for forcing Sean to make it.

****  
  
_Filthy skal_. The darkness slid into his head; demons he could not fight alone. _Let go. Fight back. Tear this one's throat out with your teeth._

 _No,_ Sean thought back. _I am a servant of the Lord God, and by his strength I shall resist temptation._

_He has abandoned you. Everyone abandons you. They know about you. They can't bear to stay near you._

_The Lord has a plan for all of us,_ Sean said. _I must have faith, and in faith find salvation._

The words had been with him for many, many years. Yet the voice, as it so often was now, was female. He didn't know why. It wasn't Harriet's voice – it was a voice he had never heard before he became a Skal. She was always there, now. His own personal demon.

 _There is no salvation for you._ She whispered without judgement, _Only different kinds of damnation. You've always been an agent of damnation._

 _The Lord God shall pardon my iniquity, for it is vast._ He tried not to listen. _And my soul shall dwell at ease._

_You don't know what 'ease' is like. Everyone uses you, everyone uses your pain to feel better. It's easier for them than trying. Your love only brings them closer to damnation._

_**No**. _

_Embrace what you've always been._ She urged him, _Spread your disease. Shock them out of their complacency. Force them to contemplate the depths of their sins. Reap the harvest.  
_  
****

Jonathan didn't know what to think, as he cleared the last roof and dropped down by the stained and slippery edge of the pit. Geoffrey was holding Sean. The Saint's upper half was wrapped inside his coat, his protruding legs held down by Geoffrey's own. He didn't seem to be fighting.

“Geoffrey ?” He asked.  
  
The Hunter shook his head. “He said no.”

“What?” He fought to rein in his outrage. “Geoffrey, he has to.”

“No.” Geoffrey spoke calmly, though Jonathan could feel his turmoil. “He doesn't.”

“Geoffrey. It's not rational. It's a disease.” When there was no response, he added, desperately, “He was _grateful_.”

“I'm still not going to force it on him, beast.” Geoffrey was growling now, in open defiance against his Maker.

Jonathan had seldom felt so at war with himself. He should have sorted this out with Sean long ago, without Geoffrey here. In this instant, his Progeny's defiance felt more important than Sean's plight. But it wasn't. He needed to think logically.

***  
  
_He's here,_ said the sweet, feminine voice. _You have to get away._ _Run for your freedom. Run or you'll be their slave forever, filthy little Skal._  
  
***  
  
McCullum felt like a demon and angel arguing over the man's soul. The worst part was, he didn't know which of them was which.

Reid looked the devil alright. Amid the stench and ruin of the pit, he stood garbed in his expensive clothes, shoulders rigid, fingers twitching with barely restrained claws.

McCullum surely looked the angel; a simply dressed man wrapped protectively around the Saint. But he knew better, far better. He couldn't save the Saint, only end his suffering. But then again, that might be the greatest mercy.

His Maker said, slowly but without pity, “There is more nuance here than you're allowing.”

“Really ?” McCullum had to laugh. “You don't say!”

“Geoffrey, we may not have time.”

“It's not up to us, leech.”

***  
  
Jonathan didn't know how long the blood of hate would take to run its course, but it was clear that Geoffrey would fight him now if he tried to take Sean by force. He could Command him, of course. But even in this situation, even with this urgent need to act, he knew what that would mean. He would lose him forever, and perhaps rightly so.

_Think logically._

“Fine.” He growled. “We let him choose then.” He raised his claws to his wrist, as he had once before for Sean.

“No.” Geoffrey snapped back. “Not like that, beast. That's not giving him a choice and you fucking well know it.”

“What other option is there, Geoffrey ?” Reid cast his hands apart but did not retract his claws, “We're running out of time.”  
  
**  
  
_Embrace it, Skal. This is your purpose. I know you're ready._ The demon said, _It's almost time._  
  
**  
  
The words hit McCullum like a blow, too close to a too vivid memory of his own. He had been wrong then. He might be wrong now. But no, it wasn't his choice to make. The options were shitty as all hell, but it was Sean's choice to make.

He didn't say a word, not aloud. He just relaxed his arms, and took a hold of the cloth. In one gentle but fluid motion, he set the little Saint free.  
  
Sean could do as he liked. The choice was his.

What McCullum did about it was up to him, in turn.

Those unearthly, bright eyes were rimmed with tears as the Skal looked up at Reid, then at him, then back to Reid.

He spoke quietly, almost inaudibly, his voice cracking.

“Please.”

Desperately.

“Help me.”

**  
******

McCullum relaxed.

 ****They gave him the choice between the two of them. Sean chose Reid.

McCullum sagged back. He felt heavy beyond words, utterly spent. But this was Sean's choice, and he had made it freely. McCullum could stand down. He could relax now.  
  
This time, Jonathan knelt for Sean. Down on one knee, like a proposal, he dragged his claws across his wrist and offered it out. Sean was already trembling. But he took the arm in both hands, like a precious gift, with his eyes fixed on the bloody wound. Then he lowered his head and lapped at the blood, once, twice, tasting delicately, before the hunger bent him to its will and he latched on, sealing his lips around it.

_God Almighty!_

From the sounds he made, suckling at the wound, all Sean's protests that it 'wasn't unpleasant except for the means' was a fucking understatement.

McCullum _felt_ it then; the echoing rapture rolling from his Maker. The pleasure was definitely not one-sided.

 _Lord preserve us._ McCullum thought, with bitter humour. Seeing this, feeling this, all of Reid's reluctance made sense.

It had been obvious that Reid wasn't much of a sexual creature before the two of them had gotten entangled. From time to time, McCullum still stumbled across Reid's hidden inhibitions and took vicious delight in tearing them down.

But how bloody confused must he have been, if he had felt this _reaction_ the first time he gave Sean his blood? Especially in the context he'd used to get the Skal to accept it?

As the blood flowed between them, carnal and intoxicating, Sean wanted to serve. And Reid wanted to have him serve. And neither of them could ever know if that was only the blood talking.

God damn, it was a mess. The kind of mess only Reid could make. Stupid bloody leech.

Still, Reid remained focused on the dosage. He pulled his arm away, long before McCullum thought he'd have been able to. Sean fell to his knees, hissing, then groaning as though the blood were still moving inside him, and not at all unpleasantly.

When Reid wrapped his long arms around the little Skal, holding him, comforting and protective, McCullum expected his own instincts to rear up in protest. Reid's gesture was a clear claim over Sean. Something McCullum's blood ought to have objected to. Reid belonged to him. He belonged to Reid.

But, no, apparently Skals didn't count.

 _Well, this is going to be interesting._ He thought, as he slipped back into his coat.

****  
  
_This won't change what you are._ She said. It was the last thing she said, before the demons were once again purged.

Once again, he felt the Doctor's blood cleansing him of hate and rage, violence and despair, all vile urges except for one. But Doctor Reid did not take advantage of that. He only put his arms around Sean and held him close. He felt safe. He wept for that. He wept for what he'd almost done.

He wept for this being the first time he'd been held like this.

***  
  
Reid picked the little Skal up after a little while and said, “We should take him back to the shelter.”

“Are you sure ?” McCullum asked, “I don't mind if you want to bring him back to the house.”

Reid wheeled upon him with rage in his eyes and his thoughts, driving McCullum down to his knees with the force of it. McCullum accepted the overdue punishment for his earlier defiance, but fought to make himself heard.

“I didn't mean it like that, beast.” His Maker didn't hold him in the dirt, but McCullum rose only slowly. “I meant that I don't mind, the way you **do** mind Charlotte. It'll be more comfortable for him, with what he's been through.”

“No,” Reid answered, calm now. “We would be taking advantage … and Charlotte will be there later.”

“True enough.” McCullum got up, “It doesn't seem safe to leave him surrounded by people though.”

Reid shook his head. “He won't be hungry when he wakes.”

As they leapt, Sean wrapped his arms around the Doctor's neck, clinging to him. Occasionally, he gave little sounds of contentment, like a cat.


	6. Out of the Pit

Sunrise, like the first morning.  
  
Sunset, dividing the light from the dark.

***  
  
Sean woke in a pink and pleasant haze. He did not hurt. He did not itch. He felt only peaceful, and loved. The first time he had awoken like this, liberated from the fever, he had been horrified. His sheets had been stained with all the evil blood purged from his veins. The hunger had gone, but the unholy lust had remained and he had been frightened indeed.

This time, he thought he perhaps had the clarity to sense the Hand of God guiding events last night. Just as he ought to have seen the first time. So many good souls had been compelled to lust and slaughter during the epidemic. If not for a chance meeting, he would have been one of them; either poor William's victim, or one of those pitiful creatures. God had spared him that, and raised him up to feed the hungry, forever.

Still, he would make his confession to the Lord. Then tend to his flock, with a glad and joyous heart.

***  
  
Jonathan snapped his eyes open and rolled as the stake came in at stomach level. A nice bit of misdirection; a dirty trick that.

Right hand flashing down, left hand raking out, he spun, pounced and engulfed the Hunter. His clawed hands latched around the head and throat, digging in, positioned to rip the Hunter's head from his neck.  
  
A single shocking blow slammed between his shoulders, knocking all strength and breath out of him.

“Fuck me, you're distracted tonight beast!” McCullum laughed.

Still with his hands around the Hunter's neck, he tried to answer back, but couldn't drag the air into his lungs. Geoffrey didn't relent. He only drove in a little harder, twisting, until Jonathan was forced to twitch his claws back and abandon the hold, yielding.

Only then did the Hunter yank the steel stake out of his back. Jonathan gasped and fell onto the bed. It had scored past his heart, he realised. The pain had been incredible. Incapacitating.

“Two stakes is surely cheating, Hunter.” He rasped.

Geoffrey climbed on top of him, sitting up and enjoying the view. His nails dug gently into Jonathan's ribs. “I fight dirty. Don't act like you're surprised.”

“I shouldn't be.” Jonathan growled back, laying a finger under his chin. “But somehow, Geoffrey, you keep finding a way.”

“So, when are you off to the Brotherhood then?”

“Pardon ?” Jonathan was surprised. He hadn't meant to –

Geoffrey's eyes seemed to search his, looking for something as he laughed softly. “No, you didn't think it at me. You're going to try to meet the Brotherhood tonight. And, you're going to ask what they know about Skals.” Geoffrey leaned over him, placing his hands either side of Jonathan's head, taking a dominant position that felt so tantalizingly taboo. “Because of Sean.”  
  
Jonathan draped his fingers around the firm pillar of Geoffrey's manhood as he growled, “You should be careful, Hunter. If you keep anticipating me like this, you'll be bored with me soon enough.”

“Sure.” Came the rebellious reply. “But you won't be bored with me. So what choice will I have, Maker?”

Jonathan snarled, letting his voice darken and his grip tighten. They both knew this game. “Maybe I'll cast you off -

“-for Sean ?” Geoffrey finished, mockingly, just as he did.

Hearing McCullum repeat it, Jonathan realised what he had been saying, and cursed himself, letting his hand fall away.

Geoffrey mistook it for resentment and barked another laugh. “He's got you properly torn up, if I can finish your sentences like a bloody newly wed. Got to admit, beast, it's nice to have the upper hand for a change.”

So saying, he lowered his head and ran his tongue over his Maker's chest, nipping at first, then biting down to draw Jonathan's blood into his mouth. Jonathan let his head roll back as he enjoyed the deep bite, and the subtle draw on his veins.

He might have all the natural power over his Progeny, but Geoffrey would always make it a challenge to keep it in play. He ought to be very careful that Geoffrey did not feel the need to compete with Sean. That could only be destructive in the extreme.

Geoffrey bit down harder, with more violence. Jonathan hissed, but Geoffrey withdrew his fangs and kissed the closing wound. “Thinking about your Skal ?”

“He's not **my** Skal.” Jonathan corrected automatically.

“Course he is.” McCullum said, as he shimmied his hips backward, _rubbing his ass against Reid's cock._ Jonathan smiled to hear his Progeny's thoughts slipping easily into his own.

Geoffrey slid back further and lay down on top of him, pinning the two hard lines between them. “If you were thinking of Turning him into one then, I'd be on you with a stake and no questions asked. But it's already done. And he's your Skal.”

“That does not give me permission to exploit it.”

“You're a very strange monster, Doctor Reid.”

“I'm not _**that** _kind of monster.” He snarled, and let his voice tear into that low and visceral place. “And this is not the context for this discussion.”

Geoffrey's hand closed around Jonathan's throat, all his weight behind it. It was further than he'd ever dared before except when they had been truly fighting.

“I think it is, Doctor.” McCullum said low, and dangerous. “I think now is the perfect time because if you go into this pretending to still be the good Doctor Reid, you're going to **destroy** that man.”

His progeny had gone too far. Jonathan surged up, snarling, driving his talons under the collarbone, lifting the other man impaled by his bloody chest. He had no words to express his thoughts, so he only growled, making his meaning plain.

“Ah, there you are.” Geoffrey wheezed, “Wondered where you'd got to.”

“Is this a game to you, McCullum ?”

“McCullum again, is it?” Blood flecked Geoffrey's lips; internal bleeding. Still, he managed to speak. “No, it's not a game, Reid. It's... Another...” He broke off, wincing, blood now coating his tongue, the breath starting to gargle in his lungs. He glanced pointedly towards his chest.

Jonathan dropped him.

Geoffrey had to focus for a moment to heal from so much damage. Even when he had, he stayed down. “It's another option I suppose. A chance to choose differently.” He said quietly, “Do you want a shot at a little redemption, leech ?”

“No.” Jonathan answered, smiling at he turned his back and walked away. He began to dress. He wanted to hunt. He needed blood. Ms Mazer, perhaps.

“I don't believe you.” McCullum hissed after him, rising to his feet. “But that's fine. I can be a fucking idiot if I want to be. The problem is, he won't either.”

“Last night,” Jonathan scowled, responding to the barb despite his intentions otherwise. “You wanted me to seek him out. Now, it sounds as if you agree that I should stay as far away from him as possible. Which is it?”

“It's a bit more complicated than that, beast.”  
  
Jonathan did not spin around. He did not shout. This rising anger was too cold for violence.

Yet he would not truly harm Geoffrey. Of that, he was certain. For that reason alone, he allowed himself to turn back, feeling the shadows coil away behind him. He took the single step that brought them eye-to-eye, nose to nose.

“Say what you want to say.” The monster growled softly.

“Are you su-” Geoffrey started.

“Say it.” He snarled. Not a Command. More like a threat.

Geoffrey drew back, a little, but it was beneath him to flinch from his Maker. He raised his chin and spread his hands.

“I'm a vampire hunting vampire, Reid. It's an absolutely bloody stupid concept but here I am. It took a lot of painful fucking honesty, but I got here.” A pause. “Thanks to you.”

Wearing down under Jonathan's cold wrath, McCullum turned his eyes away.

“You want to stay as 'The Vampire Doctor' as well as 'The Monster Reid'? Truth be told, I'd like that. But there's not a damned chance of it if you lie to yourself. Wherever the little Saint is concerned, you can't help but look away from what you are.” He grit his teeth and forced his eyes back up. “You know what that tells me? That tells me you're not half as happy with this as you think.”

“His faith,” Jonathan answered from the rough place down below his throat, “Will not accommodate creatures like us.”

Geoffrey only nodded, “That's why you only ever get a shot at it. No promises.”

There was no deception or jealousy in Geoffrey's thoughts. There were no insults, no bluster. There was only whatever-it-was that was between them, and honesty.

He turned away, and went on the hunt.

****  
  
His kill had been cruel, and satisfying. The blood had brought clarity, drowning out his anger and confusion in a euphoric, crimson tide. Peace had settled on his shoulders. His mind had calmed once more.

Now, Jonathan stood on the threshold, and could not take another step.  
  
This was absurd. This was not a house he needed to be invited into. It was not a church he was forbidden to enter.

The wrought iron gates of the shelter's compound might as well have been the gates to heaven, for all they allowed him to pass through. He had gone through here only yesterday, without hesitation. What possible reason could there be for difficulty now ?

He examined the possibilities for a short while and came to the only logical conclusion. His reluctance had nothing to do with his vampiric condition. It was psychological. Before, he had come hurrying, convinced – and rightly, it turned out – that Sean was in immediate need.  
  
Now, he stood on the threshold, and could not take another step.

Who was that man, the vampire doctor, who had come here the first time? He could barely remember him at times. The world had been simple. He had been murdered, he had murdered his sister and would never see her again, and the world was filled with far greater monsters than he. A newborn Ekon. Confused. Weak. Driven onward by something unnamable.

Compassion?

Fear?

Habit?

He had thought himself such a small fish, condemned to the darkest depths, spitting out a lantern light in an ocean filled with predators. Except, only hours after coming through these gates, he had ripped apart a Vulkod named Fergal Bansha. He had been oblivious then to the power implied by that victory. He had remained afraid.

When had he realised? When had he stopped being afraid?

Jonathan looked at the gates, and realised that he hadn't.

 _This is ridiculous._ He thought, and forced himself forwards.

***  
  
Sean did not falter in his prayer. It would be the worst kind of vanity to turn away from Mr Boyd now, only because the man appeared to be asleep again and Doctor Reid was coming. Sean continued to read, speaking softly, easing the man into his dreams. If the Lord was kind this night, they would be blessed ones, free from the memory of rolling yellow clouds which so haunted him.

At the end of St John's supplication, Mr Boyd turned over with a deep sigh and an aspect of lasting peace, and Sean knew his faith rewarded.

Moreover, he could still feel Doctor Reid's presence. He had not abandoned him.

The Lord had already granted him the courage he needed, but courage could only exist where there was fear. He was ready to face this man tonight. Sean was not ashamed that his hands trembled, but he was careful not to rattle the stool as he lifted it.

“Good evening, Sean.”

The voice was like an electric current passing through his chest.  
  
“Good evening, Doctor Reid.” He said, not turning about immediately. Shameful, but he did not know if he could at first.

An unfamiliar yearning came over him. The hope that Doctor Reid would approach him, even if he did not turn. The thought that the Doctor might rest his hand on Sean's head, or around his shoulders, and wrap him up again.

Just as he had in that accursed warehouse, after William. Just as he had last night.

Last night had been terrible and incredible by turns, but Doctor Reid had not forced him to kneel again. On the contrary, he had knelt to him, saying nothing, his actions speaking of atonement and regret.

But even as he longed for it, Lord help him, he was afraid, afraid of what the Doctor's touch would do, afraid that it might break open the door inside his chest, and let the sin in.

Worse still, he feared that it would let the sin out.  
  
***  
  
The Sad Saint needed a moment to compose himself. That was understandable, in the circumstances. Though he wanted, obscurely, to reach out and reassure him, he knew that Sean would not appreciate that.

He simply waited. He could wait.  
  
Eventually, Sean said. “I apologise Doctor Reid. You caught me off guard for a moment.” Then, whispering so quietly only Jonathan could hear, he added. “I can tell that you have killed someone tonight.”

That was a surprise. Intrigued, Jonathan had to ask. “Really? I didn't realise that you would.”  
  
Finally finding his composure, the Saint turned to look at him. His bright eyes were flecked with gold and though they were wide and afraid, his conviction was plain. “Do you intend to harm my flock, Doctor Reid?”

“I will not hurt them, Sean. I promise.” Jonathan said, meaning it. “I am only here to speak with you. In part, I thought it best to ensure I was well fed beforehand.”  
  
The Saint nodded, and unwound a little. “Then please, let us go to one of the tents. Though I trust you at your word, we can speak outside more freely than here.”  
  
***

“How do you feel now, Sean?” Doctor Reid asked.  
  
There had been two chairs. But the doctor had chosen to sit on the wire bed, facing him, rather than take the chair beside him. His tone was caring, but impersonal; the tone of a doctor to a patient, or an uncle to a child. Sean understood. His health came first to the doctor, and all other things second.  
  
“I feel much better now. Thank you. Although, I am deeply, deeply sorry about last night.”  
  
“Do not reproach yourself. I ought to have checked on you earlier.”

Truthfully, Sean felt touched by that. Still, he said, “I know there are many others who need your care, Doctor Reid. But I do wish you would come to see us more often. I still consider you part of my flock, and you are welcome here any time.”  
  
The Doctor looked unusually amused by that, as though Sean did not know the extent of his invitation.

His smile was almost chiding as he said, “Yes, but there are few as important as you are, Sean. And that is why I needed to see you tonight.”

Sean swallowed as he felt a fluttering in his chest, a response that was deeper and more conflicted than he could readily bear.  
  
***  
  
Seeing the Saint's heart skip a beat, Jonathan did not hesitate. It was clear that the man knew what was coming, and he was deeply uncomfortable with it. But, he would need to bear it.

“I need a sample of your blood, Sean. I know you are not fond of these procedures, but it is necessary.”

Sean frowned. Anger did not sit comfortably on the Saint's brow, but it sat there nevertheless. Jonathan was not surprised. It was not the first time he'd seen it.

“I know, Sean. I know that you are no mere subject for medical study. But I ought to have pressed you sooner. I need to track the progress of your disease, if I am ever going to find a permanent cure for you.”  
  
“I do not need further intervention, Doctor.”  
  
Jonathan forced himself to wait a moment. Geoffrey was right. When he looked into Sean's bright eyes, he could see his own reflection, and it was the only one that made him want to blink.

He would relent this time, but only because there was no urgency. He anticipated a long-term progression. If Sean had needed blood twice, he would likely need it three times, and more. It was more important that he remained willing and compliant.

“Very well, Sean. I will ask again, and I hope you will reconsider. It is important, but your flock is not in immediate danger, so I will not force you.”

Sean seemed to be welling up at the thought of the procedure. This time, Jonathan felt confident enough in their association to offer him his handkerchief.

He would have liked to offer him more. He could feel his blood stirring in proximity to his blood. Sean was not truly his Progeny, not at all like Geoffrey, but distinctly _more_ than Swansea. There was something there in the blood despite that. Some whisper. Some pull.

He would have preferred to take Sean away from here entirely.  
  
But the Saint looked startled to even be offered a handkerchief. Jonathan reminded himself that Sean was unlikely to appreciate intimacy from a killer, especially one with their history.

Still, he took it and dabbed at his eyes, saying, “Thank you, Doctor Reid.”

Jonathan knew he couldn't stay. It was too important that Sean remained independent from him, so long as he remained well. Geoffrey had been right. He would destroy this man if he got too close.  
  
“I will come to see you again soon, Sean. I wish you and your flock well, in the meantime. Are there any others who need my attention?”

***  
  
Of course, Sean had already known that he was nothing more to this man than his patient. Doctor Reid was a loving man, despite what had been done to him. Sean could surely show him equal compassion.  
  
“A couple of sniffles, and two who are tired often because they do not sleep well. It is nothing serious that I know of, but I confess I would be grateful for reassurance. And there is a new baby. Her parents named her Margaret this morning.”

Doctor Reid took a look inside. He needed no more than a look, it seemed. He departed after giving Sean a syrup for one cough that was entering the lungs, and some opium he ought to carefully ration to aid with sleep.  
  
Sean would pray for guidance, and forgiveness. He would find the strength to aid the Doctor in future, with a purer and less covetous heart.

  
***

Mr Boyd slept on, as did all the others in Sean's care, and he gave thanks for it.

Yet, the night was not ordained to be so peaceful for the Sad Saint himself. Hours later, when we was drafting a list of the items the shelter was likely to need this month, his keen nose caught the scent of fresh blood and death, approaching swiftly.

An absence of the ethereal sense meant it was not Doctor Reid.

That was good enough reason to fear. Taking a candle, he rose quickly and trusted to the Lord.

Sean almost dropped it, startled, when he realised it was only Geoffrey McCullum. He had never... he had never known Geoffrey to smell of blood, like Doctor Reid, nor like he did tonight. The big man was kind. Violence came easily to him, but he was tormented and determined to atone. He had saved Sean last night. He had captured him, trapped him... but then defended him from harm.

Yet he had killed someone. Someone's mother, sister, daughter... or father, brother, son. One of God's Children.

Perhaps it had been the same life Doctor Reid had taken. Perhaps they did that together.

Sean clutched his cross, thumbing the rosary against the unholy urges. He had felt loved last night. He had felt... more than that. In the light of it, he could not help but recognise the stirring of the same potent elixir within Geoffrey McCullum; a temptation to sin. And in his sinful mind, McCullum was so much less untouchable than the good doctor.

But this was not affection. This was simple lust. He must turn it out.

“Morning, _Seán_.” McCullum said, keeping his voice low in deference to the sleepers, “You're looking a lot better.”

***  
  
McCullum was glad that Sean invited him to speak in one of the tents. Too many intimate conversations had happened in the back room. He'd rather not do this there.

“Would you like to sit, Mr McCullum?” Sean said, rising to offer him the chair when the bed creaked ominously under McCullum's weight.  
  
“No, Saint. I feel the cold less than you do,” He settled himself on the floor, with his back against a cabinet. “And it'd be daft to loom over you in these quarters. I'm fine. Sit and be comfortable.”

“Thank you.” The Saint drew a breath and clasped his hands together. With an air of something he'd practised, he said, “Mr McCullum. I apologise, truly, for my actions last night.”  
  
God, it could make a man weep.  
  
“No, Saint. Your actions were nothing worth apologising for. I'm just glad I found you when I did.”

“As am I, and I thank you for that as well, _mo chara_.”  
  
“Saint,” McCullum began reluctantly. He had come here for a reason. He didn't want to. Sean was clearly keyed up and tense, but it had to be done. “If you ever need blood again... I want you to know that you can ask. I won't force you. But I don't want you to risk coming that close again. ”

“That's very kind of you, Mr McCullum.” Sean said earnestly. “I feel well now though. I do not think your offer is necessary.”

“Even so.” He hardened his voice, “Understand me. I will not allow there to be another outbreak in this city. Please, do not let it come to that. Ask, before it can come to that.”

The Saint drew a short, pained breath and stared down at the floor.

McCullum could not relent. “I have it in me to understand your reluctance. Your asceticism doesn't stem from pride, I know that. But I will not let your need for chastity endanger the lives of others. If you need blood to avoid becoming like that, you must ask for it... or let me know that you're not willing to.”

Sean was trembling, slightly, mouthing the words to some prayer. He very much doubted it was fear of McCullum that made him shake like that.

“Do we understand one another ?” He said, low.

“I understand, Mr McCullum.” Sean said, though he still did not raise his head. “In that much, I would be obeying both you and God. And I thank you for making that so clear.”

God, but he had never heard the Saint sound _bitter_ before. It was unsettling.

“Thank you Sean. I'm sorry to be so bleak, but I had to be sure we were on the same page.”

“May I ask you a personal question, Mr McCullum?” The Saint asked unexpectedly.

“Seems only fair, in the circumstances.”

Sean dropped his head, gnarled hands closing tight around his cross. “I know you have killed someone tonight, Mr McCullum.”

“Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't think.”

Taken off his guard, McCullum thought he ought to have been distraught, ashamed. But what he felt was closer to the embarrassment of realising there was still lipstick on his shirt.

Lacking for better to say, he asked. “Is it really that obvious to you?”

Sean nodded, swallowing hard. “Because I am a Skal, I think.” After a moment, he said. “Did you know their name?”

“Yes … but why?”

Sean met his eye. He wasn't crying, wasn't angry. There was only compassion in the haunting eyes and conviction swelling his fragile frame. “I would like to pray for them, if I may?”

It was McCullum's turn to look away. Now, he felt the horror he ought to have started with. This was sick, and absurd. Nevertheless, he admitted, “Allan Wolfe. Appropriate enough name too.”

Sean drew a sharp breath. “I knew of the man, though I never met him.”

Sean held his cross close as he rose to his feet, preparing to go. His eyes flickered up again, a tortured frown tearing at his lips. “Thank you, Mr McCullum.”

“Saint... Sean.” McCullum was at a loss. He stood up as well, though he regretted it a little as he loomed over the man. “Why?” He stalled.  
  
“For knowing his name, and for telling me so that I may pray for his soul.” The Saint said with uncanny calm.

“That's not what I meant to ask. I meant, you know, why put up with this? I damned sure murder's still on the list of mortal sins.”  
  
Sean dragged a ragged breath, revealing for a moment the pain this conversation caused him. Still, he said, “Are you mortal, Mr McCullum?”

 _Well, shit._ “Fair point.”  
  
“Do you reject God and lead others from him?” The little man wasn't speaking like a crusader unto judgement, though it would have suited the words. He sounded more... pleading.

“I kill people.” McCullum repeated flatly.

“That's not the same. Their souls go on into His eternity.”  
  
“Well, no then.”  
  
The Saint took a little step forward, then another, looking up with hauntingly beautiful eyes. “Do you exist?”

“Yes.”

“Then God has a purpose for you. We have been granted His eternity, before the Day of Judgement.” The Saint's eyes began to well up again. “I can not say what that means with certainty. But I know that he loves all his creations.”

“Crosses burn me, Saint.” He pointed out, hating himself for doing it. “I can't enter a church. God doesn't want anything to do with me.”

Slowly, falteringly, Sean moved a little closer. Geoffrey felt almost embarrassed by how much he loomed over the man. Still, that was nothing compared with when Sean lifted his hand from his rosary and placed it, carefully, on McCullum's chest. He looked as though he expected the skin to burn him.  
  
McCullum froze, uncertain what to do.  
  
Dead, he might be, but Sean's hand was warm.

Unexpectedly, the little Skal drew close and rested his head against his chest. McCullum stayed very still. Knowing what he did about this man, this _Skal,_ it seemed safest to simply keep his hands hanging by his sides and wait.

After just a few moments, Sean stepped back, looking up into his eyes

Sean was not weeping any more. Instead, he slowly, pointedly, brushed his fingers over the cross that always hung with the rosary beads around his neck. The cross that had been pressed to McCullum's shirt only moments ago.

“Well, I'll be damned.” McCullum whispered, smiling despite himself.  
  
Sean smiled and shook his head. “Perhaps not, Mr McCullum. While I can not say for certain, I have faith.”

***

  
Later, McCullum expelled his confusion to the only person he could. He still sounded shell-shocked to his own ears.  
  
“I threatened to kill him, and he gave me a hug and said thank you.”

“Mmm.” Charlotte hummed indulgently. “Sounds like a brave man.” Then, more huskily. “Sounds like a **special** man.”  
  
“Shush, you.” McCullum cuffed her, but without any force to it.

She tutted, then asked, “Are you sure Jonathan won't mind?”

McCullum started to smile, then stopped. It was often this way with them; catching her emotions after they arrived, like the smell of phosphor after a match was struck. Quick, but not as immediate as with Reid.  
  
Charlotte had a healthy fear of his Maker.

Perhaps he didn't have enough.  
  
 _Shit_. It hadn't even occurred to him.  
  


~~ Story will continue in 'Plaguebearer' ~~  
  
Thanks for reading ! 


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